Chapter 5

Chapter

Five

brIAR

B riar woke with a start, her heart racing as if she'd been yanked from a dream she couldn't quite remember. Disorientation settled over her, making it hard to tell where the dream ended and reality began. For a long moment, she lay still, staring up at a ceiling she didn't recognize as her mind tried to piece together what had happened and where she was.

Everything felt strange, yet oddly peaceful. Something had changed, though she couldn't say exactly what. It was like the air around her had shifted somehow, leaving her lighter, more grounded—yet the fear still lurked beneath the surface, ready to pounce if she let it.

Her limbs felt heavy, as if she hadn't moved in days. But beneath the stiffness, there wasn't much pain. She wasn't sore, not the way she expected to be after running for her life. Slowly, Briar lifted her hands and examined her arms. Pale bruises still marked her skin, faint remnants of whatever nightmare had chased her into the storm—a nightmare that seemed just out of reach. She touched one on her forearm, a soft circle of discoloration, and flinched, not because it hurt, but because of what it seemed to represent.

Briar threw the blanket off her legs, her breathing shallow. She needed to see the damage, to make sure she was still whole. Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she caught sight of her reflection in the full-length mirror across the room.

The sight made her stomach twist. Bruises ghosted along her ribs and thighs, pale smudges that stood out starkly against her fair skin. She pressed her fingers to her side, following the faint outlines, relieved to find the tenderness fading—but the emotional wound behind those bruises lingered, pulling at her mind.

I'm alive, she reminded herself. I made it through. Whatever happened, I survived.

The sun streaming in from behind the soft sheers at the windows caught her attention, and she turned toward the light. It was warm and gentle, filling the room with a peaceful glow. The shadows of tree branches swayed lazily on the curtains, hinting at the breeze outside.

Morning.

She exhaled, feeling some of the tension bleed from her body. It must be early—maybe just after dawn. The world outside this room seemed calm and quiet, as if the storm she remembered from her arrival had never happened. Briar sat for a moment longer, grounding herself in the moment. This place—wherever she was—felt safe, at least for now.

She stretched, testing her muscles, and found she was stronger than she had expected. The stiffness began to ease as she stood carefully, her bare feet touching the cool wood floor. Her body felt…normal, more or less, though the faint ache in her head still lingered, like a dull echo of fear she couldn't quite shake.

Briar spotted a thick robe folded neatly over the footboard of her bed and slipped it on, drawing the soft fabric around her. It smelled faintly of lavender and something clean, a scent that reminded her of soap and sun-dried laundry. With the robe wrapped snugly around her, she made her way to the ensuite bathroom, curiosity mingling with the need to wash away the remnants of the last few days.

The bathroom was spacious and luxurious in a rustic way, with a large, freestanding tub near a wide window and a walk-in rain shower tucked in the corner. Marble countertops glistened under the soft morning light, and neatly folded towels sat on a wooden shelf near the sink. It was the kind of space that invited relaxation, as if it had been designed to wash away more than just dirt.

Briar stood for a moment, letting the peaceful surroundings seep into her, before closing and locking the door and turning on the shower. The water sputtered briefly, then cascaded from the large rain showerhead with a soothing rush.

She hesitated, touching the edge of the robe where it met her throat, and stared into the mirror above the sink. The pale bruises on her neck made her stomach churn. Her hand traced the spot, and for a moment, her breath hitched. She had no memory of how those bruises had formed, and that unsettled her more than anything. What had she run from? And, more importantly—who?

Her heart gave a small, frightened kick, but she shoved the feeling down. Not now. She could deal with that later. Right now, she needed to feel human again, and human meant clean and refreshed.

Briar dropped the robe onto a bench near the shower and stepped beneath the warm stream. The water hit her skin like a blessing, washing away the grime from her hair, her arms, her legs. The tension she hadn't realized she was holding melted with every passing second, replaced by a strange sense of renewal.

Grief and fear swirled down the drain with the dirt and sweat, leaving her feeling lighter. She closed her eyes, letting the water cascade over her face, and for the first time in what felt like days—maybe weeks—she allowed herself to breathe.

She reached for the shampoo, massaging the lather into her hair, scrubbing away the remnants of the storm, the mud, and the fear that clung stubbornly to her skin and scalp. The simple act of washing felt like reclaiming herself, piece by piece, as if the water could carry away not just dirt, but the strain of the unknown that had followed her into this strange place.

The warmth of the shower eased the tightness in her muscles, and she tilted her head back, letting the spray cascade down her spine. For a brief, blissful moment, the world outside ceased to exist, and there was only the sound of water, the warmth on her skin, and the promise of a new beginning—however fragile.

When the water finally began to cool, Briar turned off the shower and stepped out, wrapping herself in one of the soft towels. She stood in front of the mirror, wiping the fog from the glass with her palm, and studied her reflection again. The bruises were still there, but they didn't seem as ominous now. They were fading, along with the fear that had gripped her so tightly.

I'm still here; I'm still me—whoever that is.

And she was going to figure that out and whatever had happened—no matter what it took.

As she tied the towel around her and reached for the robe, a strange feeling settled over her, like the soft buzz of anticipation before a storm. Something was coming—she could feel it in her bones, as sure as she had felt the need to run. But this time, she wasn't going to run. Not yet, anyway.

Briar stepped out of the bathroom, the plush robe wrapped snugly around her, her damp curls falling loosely over her shoulders as she gently combed through the tangles with her fingers. The air in the room felt cool against her freshly scrubbed skin, soothing in a way that almost lulled her back into a sense of security.

But as she entered the room, she stopped short, her breath catching in her throat.

He stood near the window, where the early morning sunlight spilled over him, accentuating the broad lines of his shoulders and the sharp angles of his face. He was tall, with well-defined muscles that spoke of years spent laboring outdoors rather than time in a gym. His tanned skin contrasted with the dark waves of his hair, which looked as though the wind had tousled it just moments ago. Everything about him seemed sculpted from raw strength, a man forged by the elements rather than polished by vanity.

He should have been frightening. And yet, he wasn't.

Briar's heart skipped a beat, but not from fear. It was something else entirely—a slow, creeping awareness that coiled low in her belly, waking a heat she hadn't expected. Her pulse quickened, not in warning, but in recognition.

Those eyes—piercing, dark, and brimming with unspoken passion—were familiar. She had seen them before. Not in this life, but in her dreams. They had been watching her through moonlight and mist, both man and wolf, calling to her in ways she didn't fully understand. But how could the wolf and the man be one and the same? And yet, she knew they were.

A shiver ran down her spine, and her breath hitched, the air between them charged with an unspoken connection that buzzed against her skin. She stared at him, her mind scrambling to make sense of his presence, but her instincts whispered that he wasn't a threat. He wouldn't hurt her. She was safe with him.

For a moment, they stood in silence, the space between them humming with tension. His gaze settled on her, as though he could see through every wall she had built to protect herself, every lie she had told to survive.

She clutched the edges of the robe tighter around her, her fingers digging into the soft fabric, but the gesture was more reflexive than necessary. She wasn't afraid—just off balance, as if the ground beneath her had shifted and left her standing on uneven footing.

"Good morning." His voice was low, rich, and steady—a sound that sent a pulse thrumming through her veins.

Briar swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. "Morning…" she murmured, though the word felt foreign on her tongue.

"You look better," he said, taking a step closer.

The sunlight behind him cast a soft halo along his shoulders. The way he moved—fluid and deliberate—reminded her again of the wolf from her dreams. A creature with power coiled beneath its skin, strength held in reserve, waiting to be unleashed.

Her heart pounded in her chest, but not from fear. No, what she felt was something far more dangerous than fear—something that spread like a slow flame through her limbs.

She shouldn't feel this way. And yet, she did. Her body reacted instinctively, as if recognizing him on a level that went deeper than logic.

"You're…" Briar's voice faltered as she searched his face, struggling to match dream with reality. "I think I've seen you before."

He gave a small, knowing smile. "We've crossed paths. You collapsed in my arms the other night. Quite the dramatic entrance."

Something in his words tugged at her memory, elusive and hazy. Her dreams had been full of fragmented images—a man bathed in moonlight, his hand reaching toward her, his presence a lifeline in the chaos. And here he was now, standing before her, not a figment of her imagination but real and solid, as if the dream had bled into waking life.

"You…" she began again, but the words trailed off as her gaze dropped, lingering on the strong curve of his jaw, the stubble shadowing his face, and the way his shirt stretched across the planes of his chest.

She could smell the faintest hints of leather and earth on him, a scent that stirred something primal inside her—something she didn't know she was capable of feeling.

A blush crept up her neck, warmth pooling low in her belly. She looked away quickly, pretending to smooth the robe across her lap, though the effort felt futile. The tension between them was palpable, a quiet current pulling her toward him whether she wanted it or not.

"You don't need to be afraid," he said softly, as if reading the flicker of uncertainty that crossed her face.

Briar's heart stuttered, caught between relief and confusion. She believed him. She didn't know why, but she did. Something about his presence grounded her.

"I'm not. What's your name?" she asked, her voice softer than she intended.

The man tilted his head slightly, those dark, unreadable eyes never leaving hers. "Colt Savage."

The name settled over her, familiar and solid, as if it had already been etched into her memory. Colt. It fit him perfectly—strong, steady, and a little wild.

For a moment, Briar couldn't think straight. Her pulse thrummed beneath her skin, and the slow, simmering heat that had sparked earlier began to build, leaving her breath shallow and uneven.

Colt watched her closely, as though waiting for her to say something more. But Briar couldn't find the words. Every part of her felt aware of him—too aware. The room, the morning light, the distant chirping of birds outside the window—all of it faded into the background, leaving only him.

It was overwhelming, and yet... she didn't want him to leave.

"Colt…" she whispered, testing the sound of it on her lips.

His gaze darkened slightly, and the corner of his mouth twitched, as if he knew exactly what kind of effect he had on her and was glad of it.

Briar clenched her fists, willing herself to focus, but the heat swirling between them was relentless. It gnawed at the edges of her resolve, whispering that maybe she wasn't as alone as she had thought.

Colt took another step closer, and the space between them seemed to shrink, the air growing thick with unspoken things. Briar felt the urge to reach for him, to place her hand against the warm skin of his arm just to ensure he was real.

Her hand twitched toward him—but she stopped herself just in time, curling her fingers into the folds of the robe instead. This was dangerous. He was dangerous—she could sense that. She didn't even know him. And yet, she felt like she did. Like she had known him all along.

For a long moment, they stood in silence, the only sound that of their breaths mingling in the sunlit room. Neither dared to make the next move.

"You can stay as long as you need," he said, his voice low and warm. "This is Copper Canyon Ranch, just outside Austin." He leaned slightly against the door frame, his posture easy, but his gaze never left her face. "You burst into the dining hall two nights ago. It looked like you were... running from something."

Briar's breath caught, and she tightened the robe around her as if it could shield her from the truth in his words. She glanced down at the faint bruises along her arm, trying to suppress the ripple of fear that threatened to rise again.

Colt must have noticed the shift in her expression because his eyes softened, and he offered her a small, reassuring smile. "You don't have to tell me now," he added, his voice rumbling low in his chest. "Whatever it is, whenever you're ready. You've been through a lot. Why don't you sit and rest? We'll talk when you're ready. You'll find some clothes that should fit in the dresser."

Briar blinked, the spell between them breaking just enough for her to regain her senses. She gave a small nod, her heart still hammering in her chest.

Colt stepped back, his gaze lingering on her for one last moment before he turned toward the door. Briar let out a shaky breath. She pressed a hand to her chest, feeling the rapid beat of her heart beneath her palm. Whatever had just happened between them, it was far from over.

He paused at the door, one hand resting lightly on the doorknob. He turned back to her, his gaze lingering, sweeping over her in a way that felt both assessing and careful—not intrusive, but deliberate. It wasn't rude or suggestive, but it still made Briar's skin tingle, as though his dark eyes could see through her, peeling back the layers she didn't want anyone to touch.

For a moment, he seemed just as startled as she felt, as if neither of them had been prepared for the significance of their meeting. His expression flickered—something unreadable, but it passed quickly, replaced by a steady calm.

H is words were simple, but they struck something deep inside her—a small, hidden part of her that had expected suspicion or demands. Instead, he gave her space. It was unexpected, and more comforting than she cared to admit.

"You're welcome here," Colt reiterated. His voice held a kindness that belied the strength radiating from him, a low rumble that felt like solid ground beneath her feet. "Make yourself at home."

Briar nodded slowly, though her mind still swirled with questions and uncertainties. The way he stood there, calm and sure, made her feel like it might be possible to find her footing again—if only for a little while.

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Colt inclined his head slightly, the flicker of something like understanding passing between them. Then, with one last lingering glance, he stepped back into the hallway, closing the door gently behind him. The moment he was gone, the room seemed colder, as if the warmth he carried had gone with him. It felt larger and quieter, the absence of his presence leaving a strange emptiness in its wake. Briar exhaled a long, shaky breath, pressing her fingers to her temples.

It was only a moment before a knock sounded on the door, and it opened again. A woman bearing a tray of delicious smelling food entered, Colt behind her. "This is Etta," Colt said, "she's been looking after you and will do so until she decides you can look after yourself." The woman named Etta made a dismissive snort, bringing a smile to Colt's face. "Get some rest."

She had so many questions—about where she was, who Colt was, and what had happened to her before she stumbled into his life. But right now, all she could do was absorb the strange new reality she found herself in—a place that seemed safe for the moment, though she knew the peace wouldn't last forever.

She glanced toward the window, where the sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting soft shadows across the floor. Somehow, despite everything, it felt like a new beginning—a chance to breathe, to rest, and maybe even to heal, but from what, she wasn't sure.

Briar settled back into a large, comfy chair by the window where she could look out at the vast grasslands that lay beyond the ranch buildings, her thoughts still tangled with fear and uncertainty. One truth stood out among the confusion: Colt was important to her and to her future. She wasn't quite sure how or why, but something about him stirred parts of her that had been asleep for a very long time.

Whatever came next—whatever was waiting just beyond the horizon—she had the unsettling sense that Colt Savage was going to be right at the heart of it.